The Arrangement
by LoveBlossoms
Summary: Since the death of her lover in the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione has wandered through life half-aware, desperate to not feel anything. But the legally binding arrangement handed down from the Ministry acts as a catalyst. How will Hermione respond to required marriage and home life? Of finally grieving the death of her lover? And how will her Ministry chosen mate respond?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Some important notes: I followed the story line of the books with a few important changes. First, Snape survives the bite from Nagini. Details will be discussed in the story. Second, instead of Fred dying in front of the trio, Ron dies instead. Third, Ron and Hermione figure out they like each other the summer before they hunt down the horcruxes, when Bill and Fleur get married. This changes subtle parts of their running and hunting. (But not Ron leaving back to home for a time like what happened in the book.)

Beyond that, I wanted to better explore the ideas I had in _A Forced Love_. Time and maturity and life events can change your perspective on events and relationships. I hope this creates a better story this time around.

* * *

She could barely hear the rain hitting the roof above her office. She paid it no mind, aware that the rest of the floor of cubicles had been bewitched to be almost completely silent. They were told it helped productivity. Hermione, though, needed sounds of some kind, some distraction from her thoughts when the work wasn't enough. Today, especially, the work was certainly not enough. He had always enjoyed the rain—at least once he learned how to protect himself from the biting cold of it. She flipped pages through her hands idly, not absorbing what was written. How ironic that it would rain, again, on his birthday. The fates were mocking her; she was sure, given the lovely weather yesterday. A sigh left her lips as she rededicated herself to the task before her.

"Hermione?" Percy asked again. "Did you hear me?"

She looked up quickly from the witness notes in her hands, her eyes widening when she saw the bright red hair. Inhaling a large, deep breath, she shook her head. _It never would be Ron_ , she reminded herself. Habit was a bitch that refused to die sometimes, though.

Percy looked around deftly before moving into her small cubicle space. "I don't have much time. I just wanted to let you know…" He hesitated and searched her face for a moment. "It's ridiculous that they would even think about finalizing it on his birthday."

"Finalize what?" Hermione asked, her voice muted, wishing away the unwanted intrusion. People always seemed to find her at her weakest points. Perhaps she should be evaluated for an informant jinx of some kind. She glanced back down at the witness notes and jotted something lightly in the margin before looking back up at him.

Percy gulped. "Look, you can't tell anyone that I told you, alright? It's not my place. I could get in a lot of trouble."

Hermione nodded slowly. "What is it, Percy?" She needed to get back to her notes before real life crashed back down around her too soon. Third birthday since he'd been dead. How was that even _possible?_ Her hands trembled the slightest amount, the only outward sign of her heart breaking all over again. Time demanded that wounds become healed. She had witnessed it on her friends' faces over the last few years. Sadness turned to apathy turned to anger turned to acceptance. And then, suddenly, they were all happy again, surrounding her with sunshine she couldn't feel. Her heart, for whatever sick game fate wanted to play, had frozen itself in between sadness and apathy. They couldn't understand her inability to move on. She had grown accustomed to hiding her torment.

"They finalized your courtship."

The words snaked out of his mouth, hitting her chest like a whip. She inhaled sharply.

"W-what?" Her pulse throbbed in her ears. "Do you know who…?"

Percy's eyes suddenly filled with torment. "I can't tell. I just… I can't be the one who tells you that. I just wanted to give you warning." He looked around the floor of offices again. "That's my cue. I need to get going. Come to the Burrow tonight? We'd all love to see you."

Her teeth bit into her lower lip. The Burrow held such haunting, damning memories. Even though she hadn't been there since Christmas—and then only because they all insisted she come, and they refused to gather at any of the other houses—she hesitated in obliging him. Slowly, she nodded.

"I'll come by when I can. Maybe for dinner?" She asked tentatively, unwilling to admit how much she actually missed them all. Grief could be such a bitch, too.

He nodded quickly, his smile brightening his face, before stepping out of her small space and dodging to the left.

Hermione returned to biting her lip, looking again at the witness notes. She scribbled another note in the margin of the text for use at trial. Time seemed to pass extraordinarily slower than before Percy's visit. Hermione found herself shuffling the paperwork, unable to read it, caught up in wondering about the news Percy had shared with her.

They'd finalized her courtship. She was now legally engaged to someone. On Ron's _fucking_ birthday.

"Miss Granger," a voice came from next to her, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced up at the clock. Half past two. Only a few more hours before she would have to face the Burrow and its hauntings. She couldn't contain the small sigh that moved her chest. Slowly she cast her eyes to her left, taking in her visitor.

A middle-aged man clad in simple work robes stood in front of her desk. He looked at her with calm, knowing eyes. Her chest seized up mid breath. "The Department for Tracking Magical Bloodlines has assigned you a mate. Your presence is requested so that the details can be discussed. Your supervisor has been informed and has instructed me to tell you that you are, thus, relieved of your work duties for the remainder of the day." She noticed that his hands were empty—just the messenger, then. She slowly let out the breath she'd been holding. Another few minutes before she knew. Her eyes glanced around her, searching out something to calm her. Thank heavens that Percy had come by with his warning. She would have been blindsided by this otherwise.

With precise movements she arranged her work desk, restacking the papers she had read through. Another day, she could deal with them. Trial didn't start until Tuesday. She had Monday to catch up, she promised herself. She sighed again. She never would have allowed herself to become behind at Hogwarts. She stood up, her robes making little noise, and turned to follow the man who had summoned her.

He walked briskly, taking her off of the floor of cubicles where she worked, and to an elevator. He selected to go up, and it quickly obeyed. When the doors opened, she noted that they were on the same floor as the Magical Law Enforcement—and thus where Harry worked as an auror. He strode past the large offices of the senior officers and made his way to the back of the room, where a moderately sized room was tucked into the wall. The door opened obediently to a flick of his wand, and he motioned for her to walk inside.

The room held one large table surrounded by eight chairs. Two of the chairs opposite her were occupied. The woman was perhaps a few years older than Hermione. Small laughing lines danced around her cheeks, but the short, blunt cut of her hair gave off an air of blitheness. Hermione did not recognize her. To her right, a young man sat perfectly upright, his clasped hands resting lightly on the table. Paul Marvington—Head of the Department for Tracking Magical Bloodlines. A muggleborn, like herself, though he didn't study at Hogwarts. She couldn't recall the school he had attended. It had been in Wales. Between them, on the table, was a small file.

Her breath hitched.

"Miss Granger," said the woman. "Have a seat."

She strode up to the table and slowly pulled out one of the chairs. Carefully sitting herself, keeping her back straight, she looked at the woman. "I didn't think it was customary for these meetings to be done in pairs."

The woman shot a worried glance over to Marvington before looking back at Hermione. She reached for the file sitting between them. Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. Who had they deemed her most suitable match?

"Miss Granger, your list of accomplishments is long and distinguished. You offer the wizarding world significant gifts." The lady started talking again, deciding to move on from her comment without answering it. She opened the file and scanned over it. "We have found you, under our study, to be studious, insightful, and given to empathy. You are consistent in your actions, not deviating from your morals even if it would be easier to do so. You are also tenacious and difficult to intimidate." She paused, lifting her eyes to meet Hermione's across the table. Hermione's fingers twisted in the skirt of her robes. "As such, the Department for Tracking Magical Bloodlines has deemed you a suitable fit for Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts, aged 40."

Hermione pushed herself away from the table, standing up swiftly and backing away from them. "W-what?" She gulped, fisting her hands in an attempt to keep them from shaking. "You—This has to be a joke."

The lady glanced back over at Marvington, her lips turned down in a frown. "Our process of selection is meticulous. There has been no mistake made, Miss Granger. According to our data, he is the best match for your abilities and personality."

"But he—he—"

Marvington cut her off. "My team has worked diligently to ensure a sustainable match that offers the best advancement to the wizarding community was made. Their decision is a legally binding contract. There is no reason to continue, Miss Granger. Every match is run by me. It is I who has final say. I found this pairing to be of merit. I encourage you to look over the selection file if you have doubt."

Hermione stared at him, dumbstruck. Marry _Snape_?

The woman spoke again. "In accordance with the law, you will be escorted to the Hog's Head following this meeting to conduct your introductions. You will have thirty days to agree upon a date for the marriage ceremony, which must be completed by 1 December. If you have any further questions, you are welcome to ask me, as I am the Selector in charge of your match."

Hermione slowly made her way back to the table, sitting herself back down, as the reality of the lady's words crashed around her. She was to marry Snape. Dumbledore's killer, even if it had been planned between them. He hated muggleborns. _Despised_ her. The woman turned the file around and slid it across the table until it was within Hermione's reach. She slowly reached out to touch it, her fingers pinning it to the table with the lightest of touches as if it might burn her. "Any—" She paused. She swallowed and licked her suddenly dry lips. "Are there any other parts of this damned law I should know about?"

Marvington lifted his eyebrows. "I am also affected by this law, Miss Granger. It would do you well to mind your tongue." She glared at him. Everyone knew he was dating Astoria Greengrass, despite Draco Malfoy having pursued her first. Like hell he was affected by this law.

The woman spoke. "It is required that you live in the same residence, though that can be anywhere. Your household is expected to increase within five years, barring physical inabilities to do so, including carrying a child to term." Hermione's eyes widened. They were expected to have a child together? She bit back bile rising in her throat.

She looked back down at the file, glancing over the notes scrawled concerning her, noting her picture in the upper corner. It was from Bill and Fleur's wedding, before the Ministry fell to Voldemort, when she was in love with Ron. Her pictured eyes lit up, and she waved to those on the other side, her body shaking slightly from laughing at some unknown joke. She turned the page over quickly, tormented by the memories the picture stirred. She sucked in a hard breath—this page was full of notes about Snape, and, just like her own profile, included a picture of him in the upper corner. Despite her best intentions, she looked at it. He stood in a clearing, wearing the same robes she had always seen him wear. Lines webbed around his eyes, and his mouth was shut, unsmiling. His eyes bore into her, and his arms were crossed over his chest. She remembered seeing a similar photo in the Prophet when it had been announced he would continue to be Headmaster of Hogwarts.

The woman cleared her throat. "Any more questions at this time?" Hermione glanced back up, quickly closing the file.

"Uhh, no. No questions," Hermione mumbled, quickly getting back to her feet.

"Right. Then John will get you to the Hog's Head for your introductions," she said briskly, motioning for someone to come through the door. It was the same man who had summoned Hermione from her desk. Grabbing the file, she turned to follow him out of the door. She felt someone stand behind her.

Marvington came up beside her. "I will accompany you as well," he explained simply, ushering her out the door.

* * *

He strode quickly towards the Hog's Head, the damning file in his hand. He had assumed he would not be included in the Ministry's farce of a law. He was hardly _young_ at this point, and he had no desire to suddenly settle down with some random woman. For the first time in ages, his only responsibility was to keep Hogwarts from burning down. No lies, no secrecy, no ulterior motives. Just make sure the kids didn't destroy the thousand year old castle. Easy enough.

Damn the Ministry and their stupid fucking laws. His hand pushed against the front door of the Hog's Head with too much force; it swung open quickly, slamming against the wall that stopped its trajectory. The patrons all looked up to see what caused the noise. A tense silence fell over the room as people quickly went back to whatever had been previously occupying them. Severus looked around, his eyes narrowing when he caught sight of a young woman staring at him with wide eyes. He lifted one eyebrow in question. A blush lit her cheeks before she looked back down at the book on the table in front of her.

"Sir, they're waiting for you in the back room," Martin, the barkeeper, spoke into the silent room. Severus looked over quickly. Letting out a deep breath, he slowly nodded.

"Thank you, Martin," he responded quietly, turning himself towards the door at the back of the room. His hand tightened on the file in his hand. No matter who this woman was, the Ministry was out of their bloody minds if they thought he would actually play along. His chest fell as he pushed out a long sigh as he stepped up to the door at the back of the room. In one motion, he opened the door and walked in.

"Ah, there he is," a voice came from his right. A quick glance told him it was some bloke from the Ministry. He dismissed him and returned to the person sitting at the table, facing away from the door.

Her shoulders were hunched slightly, like she was trying to make herself smaller. The robes she wore were, at the best, a size too large—they fell across her body strangely due to the extra fabric. Her skin, though olive, was pointedly pale. Unnaturally so, he decided, from too much time inside and not enough good nutrition. Her hair was cut short, falling several inches above her shoulders. He could see her shoulder bones straining against her taught skin, the visible proof of her lack of weight. Post-War dealings had not done Miss Granger well.

"You're fucking joking," he spat in disbelief. He felt the door slam behind him.

"I will offer you the same explanation given to Miss Granger," a different voice cut through the silence. He glared at the man who sat across from her. Marvington. Of course it was. He had to have his filthy hands all over anything that might garner him more attention. "My Sorters have worked tirelessly to ensure balanced matches that offer the most to future generations. They are also legally binding." He sat back, putting one hand up onto the table, palm down.

Severus scowled, pulling his eyebrows down in disgust.

"You can make this as difficult as you would like, Severus. It's your own time you are wasting," Marvington stated, lifting one eyebrow.

Another sigh left his chest before he came up beside his apparent match. He slowly sat down, setting the file he had been given on the table in front of him, careful not to accidentally touch her. The silence stretched between them, encroaching on the room as a whole until its entirety had been swallowed in the melancholic air. He noted that she was shaking. Regret struck him, not so much because she _was_ shaking, but rather that he had noticed. His whole body seemed to be screaming at him to take note of her. He forcefully ignored the tingling in his limbs—it must only be like this because they were legally required to wed.

"Right," Marvington continued. "Legally, you have thirty days to agree upon a date. However, due to the nature of this _particular_ match, I'm quite aware that if I do not have a date from you before leaving here, I most likely will never get one."

Severus raised an eyebrow in disagreement. "I have no intentions of discussing any of _this_ while your filthy self is present, Marvington," he hissed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm allowed thirty days. I will push back if you do not grant me the full damned law. You know I have a direct line with the Minister." Shacklebolt was slowly becoming an acquaintance. Snape couldn't blame him for the slow process; he had spent nearly twenty years pretending to be loyal to the Dark Lord. Even with the use of Veritiserum at his trial, those who were vocally faithful to the Order still kept their distance. In spite of this, the board of directors of Hogwarts had felt him the best person to move forward heading up the old school. Thank Merlin, too. It gave him something to think about other than _her_ and her blasted son who somehow managed to become the fucking Messiah three years ago.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts. With chagrin filling his chest that he registered her at all, he honed in on her liftedinger head to look at him warily. Her eyebrows were pulled low on her forehead, and her lips puckered with unease. With a sigh, he forced himself to look away. Marvington caught his eyes instead, a glare plastered across his rat-like face.

"Fine," Marvington relented after several tense seconds. Fucking attention seeker—wanting to be the one to report to the Ministry so that _his_ name would be published in _The Prophet_. "However, you _are_ legally required for this to be supervised. As such—"

Snape cleared his throat and looked over at the mundane man from the Ministry. Raising an eyebrow again in question, he returned his attention to Marvington. "You can leave now, or you can leave in another fifteen minutes when you realize that I am not bluffing, Marvington." He clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction when the stupid git made no move to leave. "It's your own time you are wasting," he repeated the phrase icily, letting it coil out from his mouth like a striking snake.

In one fluid motion, the department head stood up, his fists coming down to hit the table. "You _will not_ disrespect me, Snape. I have _earned_ this position, way more than you have earned yours."

Snape simply rolled his eyes. "Yes, hiding away in Paris until other people fought it out only to return and _lie_ about your merits to secure a high ranking spot in the Ministry. Certainly screams _earned_ to me."

Snape withdrew his wand from the chest pocket in his robes just as Marvington withdrew his and fired a jinx towards him. With a silent command, a shield charm exploded from his own wand, absorbing the energy of the high powered spell. He heard Granger suck in a hard breath. Deftly, he shot a retaliatory jinx that landed squarely on Marvington's chest. He flew back and hit the wall.

"I'll have you stand trial for this, Snape," he muttered as he regained his balance. A small amount of blood fell from his open lips.

Snape raised his eyebrows again, twitching his wand slightly. "I simply protected my own. If brought before trial, I'm sure _I_ would not be found to be the guilty party." Marvington glared at him. "Now _go_ , you conniving ass."

With one more glare towards him, Snape watched Marvington brush off his robes before circling the table and quickly exiting the room. The door slammed behind him. Granger jumped; he .

He looked over at the man from the Ministry. "I trust that you will document what is said here and report it back to the one actually in charge of our arrangement?"

"Yes, sir," the man nodded his head. "I will report directly to Margaret Taylor. Her information is listed in your information packet."

"Good," he murmured, turning to face his assigned mate.

"I do not wish to decide on a date today. Are you available Sunday evening?"

She sucked in a breath before pulling her eyes up to meet his. "Uh—" Her throat moved with her gulp. He watched it for a moment before making a point to focus on her face. "That's the evening after next, yes?"

He nodded.

"Y-Yes. I can meet with you. Here? Or—" She gulped again. He made sure not to look at the way her neck moved this time. Her hands twisted into the skirt of her oversized robes.

"Here is fine unless you would be more comfortable elsewhere. Perhaps the Three Broomsticks?"

"This works," she whispered.

He nodded, glanced back over at the man. "A few parameters. It must be in the summer so as not to disturb the school year. The end of August tends to be busy with preparations. I would prefer if it was at Hogwart's. Several of the courtyards would suffice, and they are in full bloom by summer."

"O-Okay," she accepted his requirements softly.

With another nod, he flicked his wand. A small piece of paper appeared in front of him, something small written on it. "If something comes up, this is the address of the fireplace in my office. Use it. It will be faster and less obtrusive than other methods."

She reached out and grabbed the piece of information and tucked it into the file she had been given. He noticed that the bones of her wrist shown through her skin. She was far too underweight. Why the hell hadn't the Order been caring for her? She pulled a small pocket watch from a pocket in her robes and sighed, biting her bottom lip. Her chair scraped against the ground as she stood up.

"I'm supposed to go to the…the Burrow tonight," she explained. She bit her lip again, her eyes roaming over his face. He resisted looking away. Why hadn't they taken the time to fix her? "Would you—" Her chest expanded with a large breath. "Do you want to... come... with me?"

He raised one eyebrow slowly. "When was the last time you were at the Burrow?" He felt he knew the answer. McGonagall and Longbottom regularly left on the weekend evenings to join the rest of the Order. Sometimes it was the Burrow, sometimes Grimmauld Place.

She swallowed, her hands shaking again. "Christmas," she whispered.

He grunted. It was worse than he had presumed. There was no way to help if she never even showed up. "Go alone. They are _your_ friends. They deserve your time."

She slowly nodded, looking at the ground. He stood up from his chair and noted that the man did as well. He ushered her through the door, not touching her. The main dining area was surprisingly empty. Martin looked up as they exited their small room.

"I had everyone move upstairs when it sounded like hexes were happening. Glad I did. That moron from the Ministry came out here with blood running down his chin. I would have been stampeded," he explained. Snape nodded, refusing to apologize for someone else's idiocy.

"Hold the room for us Sunday evening, please. We will be here about this time," he requested calmly, setting a galleon on the counter. "Thank you for not making a scene about this."

Martin nodded and took the galleon. His eyes seemed to skate over Miss Granger before returning to his. They carried a burden of concern and compassion. Snape paused for a moment while she continued to the door. "You know that today was her lover's birthday, right?"

He made a face. "They fucking finalized this bullshit on Weasley's birthday?" Martin nodded. Snape cursed again, "Fuck. No wonder why she's a mess."

He shook his head and quickly followed her out the door. She glanced at him. "I'll…see you Sunday, sir."

He sighed lightly. "My name is Severus, Hermione."

She nodded, gulping again. Taking a breath, she gathered her robes against her before turning sharply to the left. He remained in front of the Hog's Head for a moment, waiting for the man from the Ministry to make his own return. Finally alone, he walked back towards the ancient castle, his thoughts swirling about him.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione sucked in a harsh breath as the unrelenting pressure suddenly gave way around her. The garden was aglow with light flooding from the windows of the old, rickety home. With trembling hands, she replaced her wand within her robes and wiped at her face desperately. _Please don't do this now_ , she willed her body, forcing tension into her limbs to keep them from violently shaking. Her eyes roamed the small garden. She forced herself to take in another breath, struggling to make it deep and soothing. Biting her lip, she shut her eyes against the flood of memories surrounding her in the landscape.

 _She scrunched up her nose as another laugh escaped her lips._

" _You're beautiful, you know," he whispered, reaching out to hold her hand. His thumb ran over her wrist in slow circles._

 _A blush stained her cheeks a bright pink and she looked quickly away from his gaze. "You keep telling me that. I'm beginning to think it's the truth."_

" _It is, Hermione," he said emphatically. "You're gorgeous."_

 _She bit her lip for a moment before looking back up at him, taking in his bright red hair and freckled cheeks. He was, in fact, the gorgeous one. "Thank you."_

Hermione sucked in a hard breath, willing her mind to stop. Another memory washed over her before she could keep it from happening.

 _He pulled on her hand as she hesitated at the doorway. "Come on, Hermione. It'll be fine."_

 _She bit her lip before allowing him to pull her past the threshold and into the garden. "I don't want to mess anything up. Fleur will be so upset."_

" _We won't touch anything," he promised her. "I just want to see what it looks like at night. Y'know, give me an idea of what it'll look like come Sunday"_

 _She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "It's going to be lit to heaven and back, Ronald. Fleur has made it clear she wants the whole thing to sparkle when the dancing is happening." She followed closely behind him, keeping her hand entwined with his, her free hand resting on the crook of his elbow._

 _He slowed their pace as the enchanted tent came into view a little ways past the garden wall. Almost reverently, he gently stepped into the dancing area, turning to her. She hesitated on the other side._

" _Come here," he tugged on their joined hands lightly. She ardently refused, shaking her head a few times. He sighed and brushed a stray hair out of her face. "Dance with me?"_

 _Her lips turned up lightly of their own accord. He offered such a natural respite from the realities of war that surrounded them. With hesitant steps she joined him under the canopy. In one swift motion he pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her waist._

She felt the tears begin in earnest, falling down her face and onto her chest. She frantically wiped them away. Her chest shuddered with another breath out.

" _Are you okay?" His voice broke through the darkness. She didn't ask how he knew she was there despite no light around them from wands or candles. He always seemed to be able to sense her when she was nearby, as if her body called out to him. His always seemed to call out to her, at least._

 _She sucked in a breath to avoid sobbing. They had gotten word that the Ministry was unlikely to survive the weekend. Harry, Ron, and she had planned their escape earlier that night if something were to happen. They'd carefully recited option after option of how to proceed hunting horcruxes if Britain suddenly became inhospitable to them._

" _Love," he whispered, coming up in front of her in one fluid, silent motion. "It'll be alright, Hermione. We have plans. We'll beat them."_

 _She didn't say anything, not trusting her voice. A traitorous tear ran down her cheek silently. A finger—his—brushed it away before it could fall off her chin._

 _The breath of his sigh tickled her eyelashes. She felt his warm hand lightly cradle her neck. "Hermione, you're the brightest witch of our age. With you, all of this is more than possible." She felt him lean in, and she slowly opened her eyes._

" _You really think so?" she asked, her voice escaping past her lips on the most quiet of whispers._

" _Yes, Hermione, I do," he responded before closing the gap between their lips. It wasn't the first time they'd kissed but nonetheless this one felt so different. She responded to him with such a primal urgency, wrapping her hands into his hair and pulling him closer. His body pushed against her until she felt the coolness of the Burrow's wall against her back._

The sob broke through her mouth before she could force it back. Hermione clutched her arms around herself, turning away from the damning building. She opened her eyes and rummaged through her robes for her wand. She couldn't do this. She had to get away before another one came over her.

 _He closed the door behind them, quick to entangle their limbs again as he guided her to his bed. She tried desperately to forget the wedding the coming day—of the near certain need to escape that night to save their lives. Her nails dug into his shoulders as their kisses grew more frantic. He pushed her steadily into the bed, his hands running down her sides and then back up again, quickly shedding her of her sleeping shirt. She returned every move of his desperation with boldness, and soon they pressed into the sheets together, his mouth trailing light kisses down her neck as her nails scraped down his back._

"Hermione, wait!" A voice drew her out of the memory. "Don't leave, ok? Just… just come have dinner with us." Hermione turned around slowly. Ginny stood just outside the door, her hand reached out towards her. The brunette took in a shaky breath. "Please, Hermione. Let us help how we can."

 _Oh God,_ Hermione thought. They thought she was crying over the courtship. Did Ginny know that she had been assigned to marry their old Potions professor? Closing her eyes briefly again, she gave herself five seconds to relive those faint touches of his before shutting down everything. Her hands trembled as she smoothed down her robes. After several silent moments, she looked back up at the redhead.

"I'm sorry this is happening. I'm sorry it's his birthday, Hermione. I'm sorry I couldn't bring him back," she whispered. Hermione's eyes widened. Perhaps her friend's words hadn't been about the damning courtship. "I know the courtship thing sucks, but I also realize it's just the icing on top of a horribly bitter cake. I know those wounds still hurt you, Hermione. I can tell. Just… Just don't leave this time, alright? Let us help you. Let _me_ help you. I'll never make you come back here again if you stay tonight. We can always meet up somewhere else after this."

Hermione examined her friend's face. "O-Okay," she mumbled, walking up to Ginny, whose face lit with a smile. Hermione didn't bother to fake a smile back.

Ginny pushed the door open and ushered Hermione inside, stepping back to give her more space. She hesitated at the threshold. A deep breath in and then she walked into the living room. The loud clamor of the room suddenly quieted, and she found eight sets of eyes locked on her.

Neville tied with Molly for who reached her first. Molly surrounded her, locking her in a maternal embrace, while Neville grabbed her hand.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so glad you came," Molly whispered in her ear.

"You're so brave, Hermione," Neville told her, squeezing her hand tightly. "Way braver than the rest of us."

Molly released her. Hermione let her hands fall to her side limply as Neville let go. Her eyes looked over the Weasley matron with sad, tired eyes. She was surprised to see the same emotions reflected back. The other witch's mouth turned up in a small half smile.

"It never really has gotten easier," she admitted.

Hermione felt her eyes widen. "You, too?" She asked, incredulous. She thought she had been the only one unable to move on.

"Some days are easier than others, but his birthday is always the worst—even worse than Christmas. And Christmas is dreadful."

"Molly, dear, has supper finished cooking? It's getting quite late. I know that Minerva and Neville will need to be returning to Hogwarts soon," Arthur spoke as he rose from a chair in front of the blazing fireplace.

"Oh, yes, sorry," she murmured back to him as she turned around, raising her wand in front of her. She stepped through the door to the dining room without looking back, but Hermione noticed her hand came up to swipe at her face.

Harry approached her while the group of people began to follow Molly out of the room. "How are you holding up?" His voice was subdued in an attempt at privacy.

She shrugged one shoulder, her hands shaking again. Harry nodded, his eyes echoing the others' concern. He gently placed a hand between her shoulder blades and silently ushered her into the dining room. It was the strangest sensation—physical touch hadn't calmed her since he'd died in the Battle—and yet, where Harry's hand touched her back so, so lightly, a warming calm seemed to emit. It spread across her skin like a slow-burning fire, taking its time and yet rushing in the same moment. She gasped as she _felt_ for the first time in years. Harry hesitated at the doorway, his eyebrows pulled low in concern.

Hermione looked at him—really _looked_ , noting little details she hadn't remembered seeing before. Laughing lines crested the corners of his eyes and mouth, even with it drawn tight in a frown. His eyes were bright and clear, unburdened. He had gained muscle since they had battled together in Hogwarts. His shirt fit tightly across his chest, subtly highlighting the change in his build. Ginny came up behind him, and she noticed the subtle concern lighting her friend's eyes as she looked at him. Had they made everything official? Ginny quietly bit her lip. Hermione guessed not.

How much had she missed? How many moments of friendship had she been deprived of since he had died? Her breath caught in her throat as she thought over the last two and a half years, remembering how little interaction she had had with her best friend and her adoptive family. And then she sighed, realizing she hadn't even tracked her own parents down from where she had sent them to in Australia.

"Harry, how much have I missed?" Hermione questioned her friend seriously. Neither her voice nor her hands shook. She watched as his eyes darkened and his mouth tightened with chagrin. "How much, Harry? Don't lie to me."

With a sure movement, he rotated himself to be between her and the doorway, deftly moving Ginny back into the dining room. His arms came to hold her shoulders. "No one is holding the time against you, Hermione. We all agreed to give you as much time and space as you wanted."

"That doesn't change the fact that I've missed things, Harry," she told him frantically.

"No, it doesn't. But it does mean it shouldn't matter to you. What matters now is that you're here. Like, _really_ here. Don't fret about what has happened, you'll only make yourself sick. Come eat dinner with us. We can help you with the rest…if you want."

She searched his face for whether he was telling the truth. He looked back at her, unashamed. Slowly, she nodded, moving towards him to enter the other room. "Did you… Did you ever tell the Ministry about you and her?" She whispered before he moved out of her way.

A small nod. "They don't know. They don't want her married so soon. Something about travelling and enjoying herself." His eyes rolled in frustration. "But we had to, otherwise…"

She nodded, too. She understood. She would have been in the same position. If not for that blasted Death Eater, she would have been in the exact same place. "What a load of shit this is, Harry. It's absolutely deplorable." She paused, taking a moment to just breathe in the moment. Actually _breathe_. It seemed like she hadn't felt her lungs in years. "How long… When do you have to have everything… official?"

"Christmas," he muttered. "I begged Shackelbolt to give me extra time. They're only supposed to give a year. He gave me almost two."

Her eyebrows rose. How had she not known for so long? Harry was quick to talk. "We didn't tell anyone. We made sure it stayed out of papers. You're actually… You're the first one who knows beside the people actually involved at the Ministry. We were going to announce tonight but with everything else…" He trailed off, shrugging. "It can wait a few more weeks."

"Thank you for telling me, Harry," she told him emphatically. "Thank you. I'm… I'm sorry I haven't been around. It just seemed like you all had managed to move on, and it still _hurt_ so horribly badly."

With a swift finger against her lips, he stopped her apology. "I'm not accepting because you don't need to apologize. I can't imagine losing her, Hermione. I cannot _imagine_ having to figure out how to do life without her. Trust me: none of us blame you for how long it may take. We are all just thankful you came tonight. We've all missed you so much." He paused. "I've missed you, you know."

She felt the smile actually warm her face. Maybe… just maybe fate had decided her torture wasn't necessary anymore. Maybe time would be allowed to get what he wanted from her—healing.

"Now let's go eat. I'm starving. You must be, too." He was careful not to stare at her sunken cheeks and protruding sternum as he said it. She bit her lip as an awkward silence fell between them then nodded.

He walked with her into the dining room, where everyone else had already begun eating. She sat down between Harry and Ginny before eating in earnest. Merlin, when was the last time she could remember wanting to eat? How long had it been since she actually _had_ eaten?

Percy awkwardly cleared his throat. "Hermione?"

She looked over at him, watching as a red blush lit his cheeks. "Percy?"

"How did the meeting go?" His voice was deceitfully nonchalant. She noticed the tightness of his grip on his fork.

"Dreadful. It was horrible." It seemed to help the weight on her chest, talking about it. "I was barely managing as it was because of—of today," she told him in a rush. But then the cold reality of today's anniversary rushed over her again, and she was suddenly drowning in despair again. A small, strangled sob broke through her lips.

Percy frowned at her words, and he put his fork down on his plate before fisting his hands together under his chin. "Sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to remind you," he apologized quickly. Ginny's hand came up to ghost across the skin of her shoulder.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, dropping her face into her hands. "I shouldn't even have to worry about marrying him"

The room was quiet around her, and she heard, slowly, each person return to their meals. Her appetite, though, left as quickly as it came. She could feel the slow, steady falls of the tears down her cheeks that she didn't attempt to hide. Her heart ached to hear his voice, feel his arms wrap around her body. She sucked in a hard breath. With a quick flick of her hand, she cleaned off her cheeks. And then she was pushing herself away from the table, intending to leave.

"I'm going to go," she muttered pathetically, turning towards the door.

"Hold on, Hermione," Harry commanded quickly. "One more thing"

Almost woodenly, she turned around, finding her friend's eyes filled with concern and questions. "Ok," she whispered, not daring to look at the rest of the room.

"I saw you leave from the meeting at the Ministry but didn't hear anything else. Who did they assign to you?"

Her teeth worried over her bottom lip as she attempted to tell him. His name hung on the tip of her tongue, but it felt almost traitorous to speak of him on Ron's birthday.

"Would you like me to say, Hermione?" Percy asked her quietly.

A quick shake of her head. Damn the Ministry for doing this to her _today_. "No, no. I can say it. It's just—I shouldn't _have_ to, you know? They could have finalized all this bullshit on Monday." She bit her lip to force herself to stop rambling, allowing herself to take a large deep breath in to stabilize her. Looking back at her best friend, she felt his name linger on her tongue again. Her hand reached out for the chair she had abandoned so quickly. "Snape. They paired me with Snape," her voice was the smallest of whispers, a quick rush of breath before her last bit of courage left her.

Harry's face froze in utter shock, his mouth falling open and his eyebrows shooting high onto his forehead. A collective gasp rose from the room at large; Hermione forced her eyes to remain on Harry. She watched as he regained his composure, his expression falling into something more resigned and sympathetic rather than straight shock. "And you had the preliminary meeting they require?"

She nodded, smoothing down her hair with a shaky hand. "It was a mess. Marvington insisted he come with me after being at the meeting with me at the Ministry. He had a whole freak out, saying he deserved his position. Snape essentially laughed in his face. They attacked each other, and Marvington threatened trial." Her eyes rolled. "That's not really how the law works. Trust me, I know. And then the actual guy who came with me from the Ministry talked with Snape—"

"Wait," Percy cut her off. "Marvington was at the meetings with you?"

Hermione nodded, looking over at him with a confused look across her brow.

"He's not supposed to be there. It's a conflict of interest. If he gets involved with personal matches, they can't guarantee that the selections are impartial and based strictly on their selection criteria."

Hermione frowned. "He made a point twice to remind us that he has final say on matches."

"Well, yes, he has final say, but only after the Selectors have gone through the entire process. He's not allowed to intervene before then or after signing the official order."

Hermione thought back to Snape's behavior in front of Marvington. Had he been aware of these subtleties of the law? Had that been why he had been so intent on not having Marvington present while he told her his stipulations?

"Should I say anything to Shacklebolt?" The question left her lips before she could call it back, her thoughts focused on the new perspective of her meeting with the Headmaster.

Percy shrugged. "I imagine that Snape has already sent word to him. And if he hasn't, I know that he will."

Hermione nodded. "He did threaten Marvington with Shacklebolt. Marvington was trying to make us decide on a date while he was there. But I know we were given thirty days, right? So we in theory have until the end of the month…"

Percy nodded. "Good on him to know the law. I'm honestly surprised that he does. Shacklebolt and I were both shocked that he had been included in the list for Selection."

Hermione _hmmmm'd_ her agreement.

"When do you meet with him again, Hermione?" Ginny asked from her other side.

"Sunday evening," she answered right away, distant again in her thoughts.

"Would you want to get together afterwards? I can come to you, if you like."

Hermione took a moment to pull herself out of her questioning thoughts. A night with Ginny? She hadn't done that in so _long_. And in Hogsmeade? She thought it over for a moment. She desperately needed time with her friends. The time tonight had already done her good, despite her heart ready to restart the drowning at any moment. Perhaps… Yes. This was what she needed.

"Sure," she agreed, trying to keep her voice light. "We're meeting at the Hog's Head. Maybe we could walk the shops after we're finished?"

Ginny nodded, flashing a large, happy smile before looking over at Harry.

"Do you still want to leave?" His question was quiet, skating soothingly over her face. Her eyes moved around the room, resting lightly on each person there until she returned to him. She took in another breath, reveling in the feeling of it. Slowly, she shook her head.

"No, I'd like to stay a while, if you'll let me."


	3. Chapter 3

His eyes darted up. He forced his fingers to stop tapping nervously on the table as a small movement caused the door to open. His assigned mate stood awkwardly in the doorway, shoulders hunched again and her clothing still at least a size too large. Severus watched as her teeth bit into her lower lip, and her free hand fisted at her side. She still looked beaten—even broken—but when she looked up from the ground, he was surprised to see a light blush staining her cheeks, and the barest of lights in the backs of her eyes.

"Sorry I'm late, sir," she murmured. With agitated movements, she closed the door and sat down at the table, pulling a small bag off her back and setting it by her side on the floor. His eyebrows rose in interest as she grabbed a quill, parchment, and her wand, setting both the quill and the parchment on the table neatly in front of her. Her wand stayed in her slightly trembling hand.

"You could have at least notified me so that I did not waste my time." His voice shot from his mouth like a well-trained whip, cold and insincere. She flinched and ducked her head, her eyes shooting down to her lap.

He waited for her to respond, but she stayed quiet and unmoving. Disobedient eyes began skating over her, absorbing little details he didn't want to notice. She had pinned her hair back—it accented the thinness of her face. A small locket adorned her neck, sitting unobtrusively in the crevice where her collar bones met. It seemed to sink into her with how high her bones appeared to protrude from her skin. The gold of the metal played well with her tawny skin, and the small garnet gems that snaked around it shone. It screamed femininity and expense. Perhaps a gift from her deceased lover?

Severus took a deep breath, forcing himself to look back up at her face. She had moved her hand to grasp the quill and was quickly scribbling something on the parchment in front of her. He lifted one eyebrow in question.

"You said it needed to be after term, right? And that's 1 June still?" A quick glance up at him for answer. He nodded once in answer to both questions.

"And you said not in August since it is busy with preparations for the coming term." Another glance; another nod. She looked back at the parchment before pulling another piece from her bag—a bewitched calendar, he observed.

"Did you—did you have a day in mind?" Her façade cracked a little as she stumbled over the phrase. He noticed that her cheeks darkened a little with a small blush.

He tapped his fingers against the table in thought. "You're wanting it outside?"

A pained look shot across her face before she buried it, but he noticed it all the same. Why would something like a location cause her grief? Her teeth began biting her lip again, and he clenched his hands into fists to keep from reacting. It had been so _long_ since he had felt anything close to attraction. Asinine blasted law. It was putting him on edge, this match. There was no other explanation for his sudden interest in her, his sudden awareness of her physical _presence_. He saw her shake her head a little.

"No, it doesn't have to be outside. But you said you wanted it at Hogwarts… And most of the rooms are too large for such a… for the size it's probably going to be."

"We could use my office," he suggested, voice tense from the turmoil inside his mind. "It's just going to be us and the poor fool from the Ministry who has to verify we actually did sign away our lives and not just simply lied about it."

A small light flickered across her eyes. "I want people there, sir."

"My name, Hermione, is _Severus_ ," he told her coldly, leaning forward in his chair. "And why are you so concerned with having people there? You haven't been concerned about them being there for the last two years."

Her face crumpled in pain, and he watched as her hand flew across her stomach to hug herself. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she closed her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. He watched the tear with too much interest, his fists clenching again on the table. And then, suddenly, her eyes were open and staring straight into his.

"Look, I don't expect you to even come close to understanding what it has been like to live these last few years—to lose the one thing you always thought was a solid in a world of chaos." His eyebrows shot up as that old ache throbbed in his chest. She didn't think he could understand overwhelming grief? The loss of everything held dear, everything thought of as pure and right? How naïve. "But it's horrid. You have no right to throw in my face how I've handled it—whether I've done so well or not." Her chest moved up with the force of her breath. The locket didn't move though, he noted with way too much bloody interest. "So yes, I want them there, and you can just _fucking_ deal with it."

He rolled his eyes and leaned back against his chair, readjusting his sleeves to keep himself occupied. "Fine. Then outside is the best option. The East courtyard or maybe the Professors' courtyard. Either should be sufficient, assuming you're not inviting the whole goddamn Ministry."

She nodded once before glancing back at her calendar. "So back to my first question. Did you have a day in mind?"

He regarded her for a minute, trying to decide if he should just pick a date and make her oblige. He, honestly, didn't care at all. It's not like _he_ would be inviting anybody to witness this load of crap. But if he just gave her a date, there was a real chance she would just go with it and this meeting could be done. He sighed.

"No. The East courtyard blooms best at the end of June. The Professors' doesn't really bloom until mid-July."

Hermione bit her lip again, fixated on her schedule, nodding absently at his words. "Alright. July won't work—a couple really involved trials come up then, and I'm going to have to be working six day weeks to keep up. I won't have time to put this together, too."

"You could let me plan it." There was no reason to bait her like that. Severus understood that, and yet, there he was, leaning back in his seat, watching her face scrunch up with distaste and feeling a rush of pleasure. Her glare was full of skepticism. He sighed. "Then the East Courtyard at the end of June. What's the last Saturday? The 28th?" Her eyebrows rose in surprise. The sneer fell across his face with ease. "Yes, Hermione, I know what date it is. I don't need some petty _planner_."

"Stop belittling me, _Severus_ ," Hermione snarled at him, furious. His eyebrows rose in shock at her use of his name, despite him reiterating the use of it. It fell from her lips as if it burned her tongue, and he felt his stomach clench. He fisted his hands in dismay, fighting the feelings roiling in his gut. "You don't have any conflicts that day?" He shook his head once. "Fine. It's decided then," she said, stoic, and returned to writing on the parchment. "Here, sign this, so I can get it sent to the Ministry."

Severus obliged her, careful to not look at her so that his hands would not shake like hers. "I will contact Shacklebolt to verify who will officiate. From now on, I want meetings in my office at the school. It takes too much time and planning to meet you here."

She nodded. "Any particular time you want to broach that whole clause about living together?"

He grimaced. "No. I'd prefer if we never had to deal with that whole fiasco."

"Well, we do, so let me know when you want to figure it out. The sooner, the better."

A small sigh. "Very well. I'll send word via Floo when I am available for a meeting. You work during the day at the Ministry, yes?"

She nodded but her cheeks flushed, a quick flash of embarrassment crossing her eyes. "I—my flat doesn't have a fireplace. It was too expensive."

Severus arched an eyebrow , irritated. "And you didn't think to tell me this on Friday when I asked you to contact me using the Floo Network?"

Her eyes shot to the floor, and he noticed her body tremble. "It wasn't such a big deal if it was just a one way communication tactic. I could use the Burrow's or Harry's at Grimmauld Place. I didn't realize you would want to contact me with it."

A frustrated huff left his mouth, and he fidgeted with the sleeves of his robes again to keep himself occupied, running options through his head. "I can't have you move into Hogwarts. Expansion charms wear off after time, and I don't want to cast something more permanent. Not to mention that you and _Potter_ are practically Gods to the younger generation, so you'd be a horrible distraction. But I need you in a place where I can easily communicate with you. Are Potter and Weasley married yet?"

Hermione's head whipped up to look at him, astonished. He sneered again. "How do you know about that? They haven't told anyone."

"Are you saying that you're no one?" he supplied simply.

"But—"

He cut her off, leaning forward again and letting the frustration into his voice. "You have no right to ask me why I am privy to insider information. I have sacrificed more than half my life to be on the inner circle. I deserve to be there even after the bloody War is over."

Hermione's face paled before it flushed again. "Sorry," she muttered, looking back at the floor. "No, they aren't married yet."

He cocked an eyebrow as he thought back over the conversation. "Wait. The only flats that don't come with fireplaces are in the muggle part of London." The red of her cheeks darkened. _Well, isn't that interesting_ , he thought. "You're living in London?"

"I don't owe you an explanation."

"London is large and dangerous."

"I can manage. What do you want from me? To move? I will once we have a place figured out. I'm not moving twice. You can contact me by patronus and by owl if needed." She pulled that pocket watch out of her robes again and flicked it open. "I have to get going. Ginny's in town for the weekend. We were supposed to meet nearly fifteen minutes ago."

He didn't move as she stood up and headed for the door, quickly folding the piece of parchment he had signed. "Come to my office midday on Saturday. We can discuss our…options."

She nodded once and then the door shut behind her. Severus slowly stood up, cursing under his breath. With measured steps that marked his unease, he followed his mate's path out of the building, dropping a galleon on the bar top for Martin like always.

* * *

"He said _what_?!" Ginny's voice raised an octave in astonishment as Hermione recounted the evening's events. "How in the _hell_ does he know about us?"

"Ginny, calm down. He's not going to tell anyone. It'll be fine."

"You don't know that! Merlin knows he'll tell my fucking parents. The last thing I need right now is for them to freak out on me for getting married this year. They're so excited I'm finally out and about and playing for a team," she rushed out, nearing hysterics. Her eyes rolled dramatically. "Says my parents that married young and started a family out of fear they might be murdered in the middle of the night."

"Look, he doesn't have anyone to tell. The only person he would tell is me, and I already know. It'll be alright."

"You have no reason to trust him Hermione," she whispered forcefully.

Hermione couldn't stop her flinch. "I know. But I'm being forced to, even if I despise it."

Ginny didn't say anything for a minute, shuffling the pawn in front of her that she had captured from Hermione the previous turn. Hermione looked around the Three Broomsticks again as she waited for her friend to make her move. Scattered across the room, small groups of people were gathered together, talking animatedly and playing small games between them. A few were off on their own, buried in a book or pieces of parchment. Laughing could be heard over the general din every few moments. The atmosphere was unaffected by the poor rainy weather just outside the doors. Hermione wished desperately that she could absorb the happiness surrounding her into her bones, to feel its warmth. She sighed, forcefully thinking about anything except the hollow ache in her chest and its overwhelming grief that threatened to pull her underneath its waves.

"How long have you been living in muggle London?" Ginny asked casually, ordering her rook to move in the next breath.

Hermione bit her lip. "Since he's been dead, and I took the job at the Ministry. It was the only place that didn't have some kind of memory attached, that didn't know me from the war. I could be invisible." She pushed the words out before she could call them back, remembering how much better her chest felt when she had spoken honestly at the Burrow.

"Is that part of why you haven't been eating?" Her question shot across the table and hit Hermione in the chest. She sucked in a hard breath from the stinging words. "I'm not blind, Hermione. I know you're not eating as much as you're supposed to be. You haven't bothered to buy new robes, and that just makes it obvious to everyone else, too."

A sigh breathed across her lips. "Check," she muttered, avoiding Ginny's question. The redhead rolled her eyes and moved a piece on the board. The air between them filled with an awkward silence—yet Hermione hesitated in answering.

"You don't have to tell me," Ginny muttered finally after several moments. "Check." She brushed her hair back behind her ear before settling a bit into her chair and looking at Hermione again. "Just answer me this: Is it because you can't afford to or because you don't want to?"

"Now? Now it's mostly just habit, though some weeks I can't really afford to by the weekend. But it wasn't like that in—in the beginning," Hermione answered, her eyes glued to the chess board. "Checkmate."

Ginny huffed in defeat. "Good job."

Hermione cleared the board after a moment and stood up, grabbing her too large cloak and draping it around her shoulders. "Walk with me? It's a bit stuffy in here."

It wasn't, actually, but Ginny easily stood up and followed her out into the rainy night. The waning moon cast a small sliver of light onto the streets, accenting the light given off by a few lanterns lining the main road of Hogsmeade. Hermione fought the despair clawing its way up her chest and into her throat, desperate to have this conversation with her friend.

"In—after he died, I wanted to die, too," she whispered, careful to keep her voice detached. "But I couldn't ever bring myself to do it. It just seemed… so final. Like a waste of everything that he'd died fighting for, you know? And I watched Andromeda with Theodore and remembered that it should have been Tonks and Remus, and I felt so _guilty_ for not wanting to live when so many people had sacrificed so that I could." Her eyes skated over the small alley they turned down, seeing instead the dark alleys of London. "So many nights I would walk the alleys there, after I had moved, trying to find something—or some _one_ , if necessary—that would make the decision for me. I walked some of the nastiest areas of London, and I never encountered a single blasted ill-mannered dog, much less something more…sinister."

She laughed bitterly for a moment. "Since I turned eleven and my parents answered the door to find Professor McGonagall, I have never been so irritated to not be noticed by the muggles."

There was a small movement to their right, down another side alley that no lanterns lit. A small cat slinked out of the darkness towards them. Hermione jumped but managed to stifle the alarmed shriek in her throat. Ginny glanced down the alleyway, eyes narrowed, before turning back to Hermione. "Come on, let's keep going," she whispered, lightly grabbing Hermione's elbow before walking farther down the alleyway and back onto the main street. Ginny paused in front of a window, looking in at the small decorations listed for sale, lightly placing her hand against the glass. With a sigh, she looked at Hermione.

"I can't pretend to understand the sentiment. I—It never was that bad for me. Overwhelming grief, yes, especially compounded with all of the other members of the Order that died. Even worse, for me at least, were my classmates who stayed behind when they weren't supposed to, being underage. It was a lot to stomach."

Hermione nodded, looking towards the window, too, slowly looking over the small enchanted frames and decorative vases, bowls, and plates.

"But I had help I don't think you could have had, even if we had been aware that it was so bad," Ginny continued, her voice subdued, almost blending in with the darkness around them. "We all did. I had Harry. Mom and Dad had each other. Percy had Penelope. Fred and George had each other, too, and their shop. But you—" She suddenly stopped, and Hermione felt the shudder ripple down her friend's back. "You had no one like that." Ginny turned towards Hermione, then, quickly grabbing her hand and squeezing.

"I'm so sorry you didn't, Hermione. I know I can't be that—but will you let me be something similar? Someone to help carry the burden?"

Hermione jerked her hand back, startled at the confession. "I—Ginny—What—" Her throat moved slowly with her swallow. Her eyes flitted over Ginny's face, wide with panic. "I don't understand how it would help," she admitted finally, letting her eyes focus on her shoes.

Ginny was quiet, lips pursed in speculation. "I'm not sure either, to be honest. All I know is that when it became overwhelming for me, Harry would sit with me and talk to me. Sometimes he'd take me places, to make me walk and think about something else. It never really changed what I was thinking, to be honest." An abashed smile overtook her face, just for a moment, before clearing again into speculation. "But in the times I was with him, I could feel my chest; feel my heart beat in a way I didn't when I was alone. And then the times when I was alone were bearable—I could think back to him staying with me, and it helped when the grief got bad."

"But your season doesn't even end until the end of May," Hermione objected again.

Ginny flashed another small, abashed smile. "No, mine will end at the beginning, and I'm not sad to admit that. The Holyhead Harpies are not playoff material."

Hermione shook her head again, fisting her hands in her robes in agitation. "But you know what I mean. If it gets bad while you're traveling, you can't just drop everything and come see me. _And_ I wouldn't want you to, anyway."

Ginny sighed heavily, looking back at the window display of domestic niceties. "Maybe it's a foolish idea, Hermione. I just want to help, and I don't know how else to do so."

Hermione bit her lip, caught off guard by her friend's sudden emotion. "Do you always have weekends off, or do your days off change?"

Ginny shook her head. "No, I don't actually get all that many days off. Typically just the day after a game—occasionally one during the week, but that's not guaranteed."

"How about we get together on the days off that you don't have designated for Harry?"

"That would work. That would be next Sunday. Want to meet here again? Or in London?"

"Finding a good place in London to apparate is pretty difficult. Why don't we meet at Diagon Alley? Maybe…" Hermione took in a breath and looked over her reflection in the window. "Maybe you could help me get some new robes?"

Ginny's smile spread slowly across her face. "I would like that. It's a date." She pulled out a small watch from her pocket. "I have to go see Harry before I go back tomorrow. You'll be alright to get home?"

A small smile lit Hermione's face. "I'll be alright enough, I suppose. I'll see you on Sunday."

Ginny reached over and squeezed her hand again before turning abruptly to the left. Hermione slowly drew in a breath, unsettled by the loud departure. She glanced over the display in the window, wondering idly what it would be like to feel something other than despair. Another deep breath and she turned sharply to the left herself.

* * *

Severus walked slowly out of the side alley, hands twitching mechanically at his sleeves, his brow furrowed in thought. Perhaps he had not given the young woman enough credit. A sneer flew across his face. Who was he to give credit to that obnoxious, know-it-all mudblood? And yet… He shuddered out a breath, forcefully ignoring the clawing in his chest of that old love suddenly demanding to be heard again. _Yes_ , he thought slowly, biting on the bile in his throat, _Perhaps her lover was more than just a lover_.

A short, bitter laugh rose from his chest. That didn't change anything, though, in reality. Damn the law and its transgressions. He turned on his heel and made his way quickly towards the castle gates.


End file.
